


Giving Thanks

by iselsis



Series: Whump"tober" 20"20" [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Brother Acquisition, Adoption, Bird/Human Hybrids, Dick Grayson is Robin, Gen, Good Bro Dick Grayson, Homelessness, Hurt Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Gets A Hug, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Not Robin, Owl!Dick Grayson, Protective Dick Grayson, Street Rat Jason Todd, The Month is Irrelevant, Turkey!Jason Todd, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27857914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iselsis/pseuds/iselsis
Summary: Dick Grayson is patrolling alone in the wee hours of Thanksgiving morning and finds a group of men attacking a young turkey avian. And the kidreallyneeds a home.And, well, Bruce started it.Dick impulse-adopts Jason.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Series: Whump"tober" 20"20" [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950982
Comments: 63
Kudos: 429





	Giving Thanks

**Author's Note:**

> Me: *working on House Cat*  
> My brain: Okay, but turkey Jason Todd  
> Me: *opens new document* thanks man *works on it*  
> My brain: psst here's _another_ fic being mean to Jason  
> Me:....*opens new document again* *writes 7.5 k fic being mean to Jason* *pushes Thanksgiving special back past Thanksgiving*  
> My brain: btw, we're counting this Thanksgiving special as Whumptober 6  
> Me: is that legal?  
> My brain: *shrugs* we're already in December; does it matter anymore?
> 
> Whumptober 6 for "Stop, please!"

The wind whipping his cape around his shoulders would probably have looked really cool if Dick wasn’t huddled in on himself because Gotham was so _stupid_ cold. He was actually starting to feel a bit thankful that Alfred had insisted Bruce put leggings on his winter costume.

 _Thankful._ Dick chuckled as he rubbed his arms to try to force some warmth into them. It was appropriate, even though he’d never admit it to Alfred—the batler would be unbearably smug in that subtle British way—seeing as it was _Thanks_ giving.

A particularly freezing blast of wind coming off the harbor hit him just right so that the wind seeped between the fibers of his costume and down to his skin. Dick shuddered and wished, for just a second, that Bruce were there with him so that he could curl up under Batman’s cape for the warmth. But no, he was fifteen, and he was _trying_ to prove to Bruce that he was an adult. Well, a nearly-adult. Fifteen was exactly grownup, but it wasn’t a kid either, and Bruce hadn’t gotten that message yet.

Bruce had dislocated his arm the night before, though, and Alfred had threatened to break it if Bruce tried to go out that night. Bruce had, with a little persuasion, agreed that Dick could go out by himself, as long as he was home by two and didn’t try to deal with an Arkham breakout alone. Dick had been pumped at the opportunity to show that he could handle things alone, but, unfortunately, he’d only stopped two muggings and a carjacking in the hours he’d been out, and his time was nearly up. Even most Gotham thugs chilled a little bit during Thanksgiving. There weren’t as many things to steal as there were at Christmas, so it wasn’t worth the cold and the risk of spending the holiday in a holding cell.

It hadn’t been like he wanted someone to get seriously, hurt, but would it have _killed_ someone for something interesting to happen?

…Actually, probably yes…

Dick sighed and turned around, back toward where he’d parked his bike. There wasn’t much left he could do for the night, so he may as well-

“STOP, PLEASE!”

_YES!_

Uh, wait. No! What poor innocent Gothamite was being victimized on this fine holiday morning?

Dick unfurled his wings and jumped off the building, taking silent flight on owl’s wings in the direction of the scream. He focused in with his enhanced hearing, tracking the noises of distress he now knew to listen for. Rapid, panicked breathing, short cries of pain, the dull thuds of blows hitting flesh, and the cruel laughs of men. He focused a bit more, then his gut twisted hard in guilt.

His stomach dropped with guilt at having been excited. That wasn’t just some drunk getting mugged or an idiot going for a milk run in the middle of the night; that was a _kid_.

“So cute,” one of the men barked with a laugh, “I could just eat you up!”

Dick inhaled sharply. That phrase…rapist or poacher, certainly. Both were equally likely in Gotham. He had to get to the kid, fast.

Dick angled up sharply, soaring high above the buildings and gridwork of alleys below. He couldn’t hear anymore, but his vision, especially at night, was worlds better than a normal human’s and would keep him from getting distracted by the noise of the city or lost in the way screams and pleas echoed around buildings. Now where…

There!

Dick circled above the alley, scoping it out. There were five men, all standing around and kicking at something Dick couldn’t see around their bodies. The kid, presumably. None of the men looked like they were particularly large, and he didn’t see any wings or tails either.

“You’ll be nice and tender by the time we’re done with you!” one of the men cackled, and his friend joined in his laughter.

Dick narrowed his eyes. Poachers, then, with a hybrid child in their clutches. Bruce and Dick had been trying to root them out for years, but they were like hydras. Stop one, a dozen more spring up and wreak havoc while your back is turned. Hybrids were easy money, after all, since there was always some rich asshole with a fetish, or one of the sick traditionalist demibeasts or predator avians who had a taste for prey hybrid flesh. There was no telling how many innocent children these poachers had murdered.

“Stuff you up and put you on the table,” another jeered, plowing a particularly harsh kick into the kid’s body.

Dick growled under his breath. They were just run of the mill thugs, and he was sure that he could take them all, but he was more worried that one of them would think fast and grab the kid as a hostage. He wished that Bruce were there to help him, but he’d just have to take them out fast enough that they didn’t have the time to do that.

Dick tucked his wings in and dove into the alley below. A moment before he reached the crowd, he unfurled his large, muscular wings.

Dick plowed into one man, sending him crashing into his buddy next to him, and hit all the other with his wings. The men he’d hit with his wings didn’t go down, but they did stumble away from the kid.

Dick didn’t give them time to recover. He pounded his fist into the face of the man he’d slammed into several times until he went still, while he erratically lashing out with his wings to keep the other from making a grab for the kid. Once thug no. 1 was down and out, Dick launched himself over the kid’s body at one of the other men at random and hit him with a surprise uppercut to the jaw. The man stumbled, but he wasn’t downed, and the other thugs were getting their wits back. Without even turning, Dick could hear one of them charging him, and the other two racing down the alley toward the street.

Dick ducked just in time for the blow intended for the back of his head to plow into the face of the man he himself had just punched. There was a satisfying _crunch_ of bone and the man crumpled. Dick didn’t give himself a moment to enjoy it, though, and threw two bolas at the men running away, aiming primarily by sound as he spun around. He heard the thuds of two bodies hitting the cement as he completed the turn, driving a roundhouse kick into the gut of the last man. The man stumbled and Dick seized on the opening and grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair, then slammed his head against the brick wall.

The last man collapsed, and Dick wasted no time in tying the three men at his feet up and glancing over to make sure that the others hadn’t gotten away. One of them wasn’t moving, but the other was trying to get away.

Dick took a deep breath to calm down and focused in on the sounds behind him, the pained whimpers, the harsh breaths, the slight rustle of clothing against cement as a small body trembled, and the pounding of a young, terrified heart.

Dick turned around slowly so he wouldn’t freak the kid out any more than he already was.

All he could see of the boy at first were the quivering wings that were shielding the tiny little boy from the next blow. Dick stepped closer, and he could see the back of a head with matted short black hair. A street kid, almost certainly, and an avian too, just like Dick.

Not _just_ like Dick, actually, he noted as he looked closer. The feather pattern on those wings wasn’t made for flying more a short distance; they were a target on the boy’s back, but wouldn’t do much to help him escape. And now that he looked closer at the boy’s wings, Dick could make out the bronze and white pattern that was so familiar that time of year.

The boy was a turkey.

 _Tender,_ the men had said, and they hadn’t been worried about leaving bruises, either. A turkey avian, Thanksgiving Day. He would have sold for a fortune, or they could have kept him for Christmas and tried to put some meat on his bare bones.

Dick stepped a bit closer and spoke in his practiced victim-care voice. “Hey, kiddo. Are you okay?”

The tiny boy’s trembling became full shudders running through his body, and his breathing picked up too until the kid was on the verge of hyperventilating. It was only moments before he was sobbing, heartbreaking cries of pain and desperation.

“It’s okay,” Dick told him gently, kneeling down a foot away. “I got them. They’re not going to hurt you anymore. You’re safe now.”

The kid flinched and made a weak attempt at trying to crawl away before gasping in pain and collapsing again, clutching his chest with a stifled whimper.

“Stay back!” the kid shrieked, lashing out with one wing while shielding his face with the other. “I’ll kill you if you touch me!”

Dick leaned forward despite the threat. The boy was clearly injured, and he might have a broken rib. If the kid started trying to crawl and fell again, that rib could end up in his lungs.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Dick promised. “I came to save you.”

The boy inhaled sharply. Dick moved forward again, afraid he’d hurt himself, but the boy slowly lowered the wing from his face and stared up at Dick with absolute shock warring with utter terror on his face. Dick gave him a friendly smile, and terror won out in the split second before the kid hid his face again with another shriek.

“I’m not yummy!” the boy screamed at the top of his lungs. “I’ll give you food poisoning if you eat me!”

“I’m not going to eat you!” Dick rubbed his sore ears. _Damn_ , the kid had lungs, and enhanced hearing was _not_ his friend with a shrieky kid in an echoing alley. “I _saved_ you so no one would eat you. You’re safe now, I promise.”

The boy lowered his wing just enough to glower at Dick. He was probably trying to look threatening, but he did _not_ look threatening. He looked small and scared and intensely vulnerable. He was also filthy, another point for street kid. He probably didn’t even have a flock, which had made him an easy hunt for the poachers.

“You’re a predator. I know what predators do to prey like me, and if you try, I’m gonna _bite_ you,” the kid snarled fiercely, but he was still shaking.

Dick paused, then reached a hand for the boy’s closest wing. The boy gasped and tried to slam his wing into Dick’s stomach. Dick caught the wing before it could hit him. The boy tried to yank his wing back, but Dick held firm and didn’t let him.

“Fair enough,” he conceded, adjusting his grip on the wing to something still snug but less tight. “If I try to eat you, you can bite me. But how about if I _don’t_ try to eat you, you tell me your name.”

He only got a strangled whimper of fear in response and wide, terrified eyes. That was about what he’d expected, though. Street kids were untrusting, Dick knew, but he also knew that most of them were also touch starved. After all, when everyone you meet might try to gut you or sell you, you hardly got a lot of snuggling in. A boy this age—Dick guessed eight or nine, but the boy was just so _small_ that it was hard to tell—would be craving a lot of gentle touch that he wasn’t getting. Dick wasn’t exactly trying to… _manipulate_ the kid, but words weren’t working and they wouldn’t be safe on the street for long. If it calmed him down enough that Dick could help him _while_ providing for a basic human need, then Dick didn’t see anything wrong with it. Besides, prolonged grooming neglect could have severe emotional scars for young avians. Strategic kindness wasn’t a crime.

Dick held the wing with one hand, then used his teeth to pull the glove off the other since bare skin was more comforting and very slowly raised it to the kid could see it in time to have warning before Dick set his hand against the soft feathers. He left his hand in place for several moment, feeling the tremors shaking the boy’s whole body, before he started to pet.

“You’re okay now,” Dick promised quietly. “I don’t eat people and I don’t hurt kids. You’re safe. I’m going to keep you safe, kiddo.”

After a few more strokes, Dick started to run gentle fingers through the plumage, straightening the feathers that had been kicked out of place by the poachers. It was an intensely protective gesture that was usually reserved for protectors and close friends. Judging by the state of his wings, it had been a long time, even before tonight’s assault, since anyone had mother henned him like that. Dick’s heart twinged with pity. Even his non-avian flock groomed him. Bruce had been awkward as heck about it at first, but he’d done his best, and even Alfred would let Dick lean on him to get his wings straightened.

There was a stutter in the boy’s trembling as Dick continued. The boy was completely rigid at first, then slowly relaxed into the soothing gesture. He didn’t angle his wings to make it easier for Dick to help him, but he offered no resistance either. After a few minutes of preening the boy, the boy’s other wing slowly lowered from his face. Dick smiled down at him and raised his hand. He moved slowly so that the boy could move if he _really_ wanted to, but he just stared and followed the hand with his eyes as it came to rest on the side of his face.

“See? I’m not going to eat you,” Dick said with a warm smile. “Can I have your name now?”

The boy stared at him searchingly, then took a shuddering breath. “J-Jason.”

Dick’s smile brightened. “So you’re a turkey named Jay and I’m an owl named Robin. We should be friends.”

Jason looked at Dick suspiciously, but Dick hummed and ran his hand over Jason’s hair. It was dirty and left Dick’s hand feeling greasy, but Jason sighed in what might have been relief and leaned into the touch.

“So, Jay,” Dick started.

“ _Jason_ ,” Jason grumbled.

Dick considered that briefly. “So, _Jay_ , can I take you home now?”

Jason tensed under his hand and shot a quick, panicked glance up at him before looking pointedly away. “I-I can get home myself.”

Dick hesitated. There was no way Jason had a home, or at least not a good one judging by how ungroomed he was and the fact that he was wandering around in thin, raggedy clothes in the middle of the night at the end of November. He didn’t want to put Jason on the defensive, though, right after he’d just calmed him down.

“You’re hurt, and there might be more poachers around, Jaybird,” Dick went with. “I won’t come in, I won’t hurt you, but I want to make sure you’re safe. Where do you live?”

“I can protect _myself_ ,” Jason snapped and tried to sit up, but he gasped and clutched his chest. He would have slammed back to the ground if Dick hadn’t lunged forward and caught him.

The kid was so _light_ in his hands. It felt like he was holding nothing, and Dick’s heart ached. No kid should be on the streets, especially not so young.

“Jason, I’m not going to let you go by yourself. Either I take you home or we’re staying here,” Dick said, pulling the boy into his lap, careful not to jostle his ribs. He kept his arms around Jason, comforting but snug and confining as well.

Jason screeched angrily and tried to struggle against Dick’s hold, but Dick was Robin and had years of training dealing with kids too scared and young to make smart life decisions, and Jason was a tiny, half-starved little boy who’d just been severely beaten.

Jason finally went limp, breathing raggedly. Dick could hear his racing pulse and see the glimmer of tears beginning in his eyes.

Jason turned and buried his face against Dick’s chest with a helpless whine. “Please, I don’t want to go to foster care. They’ll kill me, please, _please_ , please don’t send me back.”

Dick pressed a kiss onto Jason’s hair and gave him a small squeeze. What could he do with Jason? He couldn’t just let him go back to the streets, not with how cold it was and how young and injured Jason was, and he couldn’t just take him to the hospital either, because they’d hand Jason over to Social Services as soon as they could. Dick remembered how bad the foster system was for avians. He’d actually had to be placed in a juvenile detention facility to protect him from traffickers until Bruce had taken him in. Apparently, the kid hadn’t been so lucky.

“I-” Dick started, then bit his tongue. He _what_? Dick wished more than ever that Bruce was there. Bruce always knew what to do in tough situations, and he had such a soft spot for kids, even if he tried to hide it.

…Bruce had a soft spot for kids…

…Bruce had a very big house…

…Alfred was always telling Bruce that he was an example to Dick…

…Bruce had impulse-adopted Dick…

“Do you want to come home with me?” Dick offered.

Jason snapped his face up so fast he almost hit Dick in the chin. He gave Dick a suspicious, narrow eyed glare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jason snapped.

Dick smiled. Jason was really cute, and he’d always wanted a little brother. He couldn’t get one the normal way anymore, but he didn’t have a sort of dad and sort of grandfather the normal way either. And it wasn’t like Bruce could just get _rid_ of the kid once he _knew_ , and Dick doubted that he would have tried even if Jason _weren’t_ at extreme risk for trafficking and/or murder. He might never let Dick patrol alone again, but he wouldn’t _abandon_ Jay.

“Medical attention. Protection while you heal. A warm bed, all for yourself. As much food as you can eat.” Dick straightened a few feathers that had been rumpled by how fast Jason had sat up. He pretended not to notice the dawning awe in Jason’s face, afraid that he’d scare it away if Jason thought Dick could see the temptation he would say no just out of fear. Instead, Dick laughed and made a show of sniffing Jason and wrinkling his nose in mock disgust. “A _bath_. People to take care of you and groom you. A family.”

“Batman wouldn’t want me in his family,” Jason muttered and set his head against Dick’s chest again. There was the slightest of sniffles, and a bit of scrubbing at his eyes.

Dick sighed and kissed Jason’s forehead again. “B will love you, Jason. And even _if_ he hates you, he’ll take care of you and make sure that you’re going to be safe if you want to leave us. I know he’s scary, but he’s a big ol’ softie when it comes to kids. Just give him puppy dog eyes and he’ll take you in.”

Jason hesitated, then raised a tiny hand and reached behind Dick to run it through Dick’s feathers.

Dick grinned and tucked Jason under his chin while the baby avian groomed him. There wasn’t really anything wrong with Dick’s feathers, but the reciprocation of a familial touch was an answer, not a practicality.

After a minute or so, Jason’s hand stilled and he nodded wordlessly into Dick’s chest. Dick carefully put his hands under Jason’s back and knees before lifting him into the air, cradled against Dick’s chest. Jason sighed and nuzzled into the hold. He was so light, so tiny. His little wings dangled behind him, but they didn’t even touch the ground.

Dick turned and started for his bike. “Let’s go home, Little Wing.”

—————

Alfred was busily peeling boiled potatoes when Master Dick poked his head into the kitchen early the next morning. Far earlier than he would have expected from a teenage boy who had been up late the night before, and the boy’s eyes were narrowed in that very particular way he got when he was sizing someone up before asking for a favor.

“Hey, Alfie,” the boy said levely, and he was definitely planning something.

Alfred raised an eyebrow before returning to the potatoes. He had to finish them before they cooled, and he’d had decades of experience with adolescent boys and their schemes. He’d find out what Master Dick had plotted, but he’d deal with it then. _Until_ then, he would peel potatoes.

He used his knife to cut away another strip of the cooked skin. “Good morning, Master Dick. Happy Thanksgiving. May I ask why you are up so early? Is it the holiday spirit? Or are you hungry?”

Dick chuckled guiltily. “’Hungry.’ Huh, well, funny you should mention that.”

Alfred paused. If that boy had _touched_ Alfred’s pantry…

“Yes, Master Dick?”

“How would you feel about _ham_ for Thanksgiving?”

Alfred paused and looked up again. _That_ was the plot?

…There had been “science” again, hadn’t there?

“May I ask why?”

Master Dick laughed nervously. “So, well, uh. Funny story about that. I kind of, y’know. Found. A kid. A turkey kid. And we have to keep him, because we’re brothers now.”

The apple did not fall far from the tree, did it, even if that apple had been grafted onto a _pine_ tree? 

Still, Bruce could not be entirely blamed. He had been the first one to look at a scared orphan and decide to take him in. It must have been contagious for it to have spread to two generations after him, but...he couldn't complain either.

His heart lightened slightly, and he smiled into the bowl of potatoes. He had a new grandson hidden somewhere in the manor. He and Bruce would certainly have to have words with Master Dick about asking permission before making rash decisions, but he knew enough of the Gotham foster system to know that it would not be safe for a young avian, especially a young prey avian. 

Master Dick crossed his arms defensively and worried at his lip as he waited for Alfred's response.

Alfred sighed heavily. “We can have ham.”

**Author's Note:**

> Later, while Jason is taking a shower.  
> Dick: *lays some old clothes outside the door* Hey, Jason, I brought some clothes if you want to get dressed  
> Jason: *conspiratorial shrieking* I KNEW IT YOU’RE ALL THE SAME YOU PREDATORS ALL WANT TO EAT ME CUZ I’M YOUNG AND TASTY  
> Dick: NOT LIKE THAT
> 
> Later, when Dick is feeding Jason a giant assemblage of random leftovers he's found in the fridge.  
> Dick: go ahead and eat till you're stuffed!  
> Jason: BATMAN ROBIN IS GONNA EAT ME YOU GOTTA SAVE ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> Later, in summer.  
> Dick: *hollering from the door into the backyard* JAY YOU'VE GOTTA COME IN BEFORE YOU BAKE  
> Jason: *hollering back* WOULDN'T YOU JUST BE FINE WITH THAT?????  
> Dick: TURKEY IS BETTER DEEP FRIED OR SMOKED, JUST GET BACK INSIDE BEFORE YOU GET HEATSTROKE AND DIE


End file.
